


at mornings we'll meet

by pizzallate



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, au where wash is a photographer!!, fluff!!!, i've had this fic for like a year??or so??? and actually never posted it here wth, maine is his victim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzallate/pseuds/pizzallate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this time in the morning, he likes to watch someone else. A boy. Maybe barely in his 25s. Every morning, even when it’s raining. His camera, too. He was always there, taking pictures of everything. Flower, the grass, trees, the rising sun, some bugs, whatever is there at the time. Maine wonders why he needs so many pictures, maybe if he can see them maybe in some future, if they’re good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at mornings we'll meet

**Author's Note:**

> posted this on tumblr and forgot to post it here too. honestly tbh i don't think i've ever been more proud of smth i've written than with this

Maine liked a lot of things. Silence. The sky at night. Space. Stars. Also, parks. In the early mornings, when the sun is barely there, no one else is around, and he’s coming back from his morning jogs, sitting down in the grass to catch his breath. He also liked watching people, sometimes. It was interesting. Especially the kids. There were all kinds of kids, all their own person. Some wouldn’t approach him because they probably thought of him as scary, or maybe just their parents wouldn’t let them, some of them  would get near him just as a dare from a friend or something- and there was also this one time when those two kids- a boy and a girl, siblings, came to him with a flower. They sat with him awhile, talked, talked about everything. Talked about their parents, about the dog that just walked past, about some dreams they had- even if Maine didn’t reply not even a single time, that didn’t discourage. It was nice, though, until they had to go home. Their parents, thankfully, didn’t seem bothered by him. Some days the kids came back to talk to him.

This is when he comes back later in the afternoon, though. At this time in the morning, he likes to watch someone else. A boy. Maybe barely in his 25s. Every morning, even when it’s raining. His camera, too. He was always there, taking pictures of everything. Flower, the grass, trees, the rising sun, some bugs, whatever is there at the time. Maine wonders why he needs so many pictures, maybe if he can see them maybe in some future, if they’re good- trivial things just to occupy his mind.

Sometimes the boy will turn around, glance at him, stare for a few seconds before going back to what he was doing. Maybe he thinks Maine looks creepy. Wouldn’t blame him, though. Maine guessed he _does_ look... off. A nearly 6’4” man, big as he is not only in height, who appears every morning and watches him for almost an hour before getting up and going away once again, always without opening his mouth for a word.

The blonde- the boy, today, he looks at him once again. At him, then at his camera, and then pause for a few seconds, before bringing it to his eyes, and Maine blinks in surprise when there’s a flash. Did he just take a picture of him?

He lowers the camera, looks at it- probably looking at the picture, and seems content. Then before Maine can think too much about it, his wrist watch beeps, and it’s time for him to go, or else he’ll be late for work.

*

The next morning, Maine is once again surprised, and maybe a little bit disappointed, that he doesn’t see the boy, this time. He looks around a little, but there’s no sign of him. Well, maybe he was… sick or something. Or _something_ , because it’s really none of Maine’s business, and he shouldn’t even care, they never talked, let alone got closer than 20ft from each other, but, well… His source of entertainment is gone. Ah, whatever.

He settles on the grass, and it’s barely a minute when there’s a flash directly besides him, and he jumps, caught by surprise, and when he turns around, the boy is there, and he’s looking at his camera, a smile on his face, apparently satisfied with whatever he got.

Hey, he got freckles. That’s… cute.

Then he turns the camera around for Maine to see, and he’s then looking at himself, and… that’s a really nice picture. He doesn’t look like a serial killer like he usually does in every picture of himself- which is almost none, and the ones he has it’s because he’s together with friends- that he owns.

The freckled blonde seems happy with his reaction to the picture, getting up without a word, and going back to his usual place taking more pictures.

Huh. Yeah. People are definitely interesting.

*

The next morning, when Maine arrives, the freckled blonde is in his place like usual. Camera in hands and taking pictures of whatever gets his attention. Then it’s a few minutes, nothing happens, until the boy looks at him, and then he’s walking in his direction. He sits by Maine, and then tweaks with his camera and he’s handing it to Maine. When he gets it, the first thing he notices is the “Wash” written in the corner, and he’s… confused. Is that the brand of the camera? Weird.

But oh, hey, it’s the pictures he took today. At least it’s what the date in yellow by the corner of the screen says. Day, month, year, time.

Yep, they’re all really good.

Especially this one, with a bird looking directly into the camera, apparently sitting in a bunch of leaves. Was he really able to get that close, or is the camera just that good that he’s able to zoom in without losing quality?

“I like this one, too.” He says suddenly, and it takes Maine a few seconds to process the words, and then nod. “I wish I could’ve gotten closer, but it flew away before that. Lame.”

Then he’s taking his camera back, getting up, patting his behind to make sure there’s no dirt in there and giving Maine a smile before walking back.

*

It’s been a few weeks, now. He comes there everyday, the boy sits with him for a few minutes, talk, show him more pictures he took later the day before- the fact that Maine never says anything thankfully not seeming to bother him- and it’s really nice.

It’s those times he looks forward the most, honestly.

They sit, he talks, Maine looks at the pictures, nudges him when there’s one he really likes and hears the story behind it- it’s all peaceful and quiet and he really likes the other’s voice.

He finds out by some slips that he’s actually 27- the other still seems to laughs sometimes at the face Maine made when he heard that-, he has two cats- an adult, and a kitten. Ari and Skyler. The adult is, apparently, by his words, a fat asshole who loves to steal the ‘tiny baby’s’ food- and some other things, too.

“He thinks he’s so stealthy! Like I don’t see him pushing the baby away to get his food. It’s ridiculous. You know, when you’re a small 20-something pounds you don’t _swoop_ very stealthily. And then, I had to put Sky’s food in the counter, because that’s the _only place_ where I’ll immediately know, right, if Ari’s trying to get there, because he can’t get there without making a calamity wriggling his raccoon ass between the toaster and the wall! It’s an absurd!”

Maine can’t do anything but laugh, because it’s not just the choice of words, but it’s the _way he says it_. His voice starts getting higher and higher the more the rant keeps on, and his face starts to get red and it’s simply hilarious.

And then the blonde starts laughing as well with him, and there’s a few seconds of silence before he gets up and it’s time for Maine to go.

*

It’s been now a little over a month since the boy had said the first words to him and they started talking. He remembers every second since then, and definitely will remember those seconds now, when the other leans in, and it’s simple and quick and all over before he can even understand what happened, and when that happens the other is already far in his usual spot.

He can still feel the pressure and the warmth against his lips, and can’t help the smile, and his face is getting hotter and no, _no_ _way_ he’s blushing.

*

The next day is a little bit awkward. They sit together and the blonde looks like he wants to say something, but is still too embarrassed to do so. Maine doesn’t mind that.

“Yeah, y’see, ‘bout yesterday. ‘M sorry for that.” He finally says, and Maine just blinks, then shakes his head, bringing his hand to his head, making the already messy blonde locks even more messier, and he hopes he understands what Maine means with that. That it’s not an ‘okay’, it’s an ‘it’s _fine_ ’, that he doesn’t mind it all at, that he didn’t disliked it one bit. He’s pretty sure the message didn’t get across though when he keeps on. “I mean, hell, I can understand if you got mad or ‘sumthing, I mean, like, we don’t even know each other’s  name, or anything like that, and, yeah-”

Oh… yeah, he had forgotten about those things. Small details. That are actually kind of really big details. But, still, details that are easily fixed. He’s not sure if he can really understand sign language, so instead, Maine gets the small notepad and pen that he keeps with him all times, and quickly writes his name on it. And a number under it, too. Rips the page off and handles it to him, happy seeing that it shuts him up and makes his face go red. Not the usual red, though, the one that appears when he’s ranting about something that annoys him, but it’s a soft one, that it’s just barely there to make someone notice it, making his freckles even more noticeable.

He then takes the notepad off his hands, the pen too, writes on it and gives both back to him. Name and number. Wash. Wash?

Ok, _that_ was his name? So Maine knew it the _whole_ time? What kind of name is that?

The glance he gives him says everything he’s thinking, and ‘Wash’ only rolls his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest almost childishly, “Shut up. It’s a nickname. Your name is a freaking state.”

Okay. Fair enough.

And just like that, they fall once again in the usual apparent one-sided chatter. And it’s like nothing ever happened, and like everything happened. It’s weird to describe. They’re acting just the same as before, except now, with his palm on the ground, and feeling Wash playing with his pinky finger, poking it, taking it in his hand and twisting very slightly- every action almost shyly, as if fearing he’d take his hand back, reject the touch-  it’s just. It’s impossible to describe.

He’s happy, though. Very much so.


End file.
